


some other town, someone else's life

by businessboyjared



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Memory Alteration, there's a happy ending i swear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21981118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/businessboyjared/pseuds/businessboyjared
Summary: 5 times Richie and Eddie meet over the course of 27 years, and the 1 time they remember each other.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 19
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title from "dead of night" by orville peck, and the concept for this fic was vaguely inspired by my viewing of the film "cold war" dir. paweł pawlikowski.

** Baltimore, 1998 **

“Eddie, your eyes are gonna fall out of your head if you don’t take a break at some point.” Eddie hears Jake, his roommate, say from the bathroom. He doesn’t look up, just hums in response. It feels like he’s been staring at the same page of his organic chemistry textbook for six days. Maybe he has. Eddie finally lifts his head and scrubs at his face with both hands.  
  


“Eddie, seriously. You can take one night off from studying, finals aren’t until next week anyway.” Jake says, coming back into the room with an almost visible cloud of cologne surrounding him. Eddie’s sleep deprived brain supplies an image of the dirt cloud that followed that one Peanuts character around and he giggles to himself a little maniacally.  
  


Eddie stands up from his desk gingerly, feeling like his bones were replaced with wet cardboard. He could definitely use a break.  
  
  
“Are you going somewhere?” He asks Jake, nodding at the outfit he’s got on: it looks exactly like the shit he wears any other day, except that Jake’s got his “going out” boots on. He actually calls them “going out” boots, the idiot.

  
“Yes, _we_ are going out because you need a drink. And I’m meeting Kim there, too—she’s the one I was telling you about the other day. Get dressed, dude! Leaving in ten.”  
  


Eddie doesn’t remember that conversation, but he also doesn’t remember the last 48 hours or so, so he just nods and stretches out his spine some more. He doesn’t actually want to go that badly—he’d rather just curl up in bed and sleep for a whole day, but he also knows some social interaction would do him good. Eddie grabs a change of clothes and jumps in the shower, and then he and Jake are winding their way through campus to get to the bar.  
  


As soon as they get there, Eddie fights the urge to turn around and go right back to their dorm. It’s bad enough that Jake ditches him almost immediately—at least he has the decency to buy him a beer first—but then Eddie notices that it’s not a band playing tonight, it’s just some fucking _guy_ up there, telling jokes to an uninterested crowd.  
  


Eddie glances around hoping to find someone to talk to, an acquaintance of an acquaintance even, so he can avoid becoming this guy’s sole audience member.  
  


No such luck.  
  


He settles in along the wall, trying to keep himself in the shadows as much as he can. Eddie’s still not really listening to the guy’s set, content with nursing his beer and people watching. When that gets boring, Eddie finally turns his attention to the man on stage and startles a bit when they immediately lock eyes. He’d already been looking at Eddie, like he was willing him telepathically to turn his head and give him a sliver of his attention.  
  


The guy interrupts his own story just to wink at Eddie and say, “You come here often?” into the mic. Eddie’s mortified when the few other people who _were_ listening to his set turn their heads to see who he’s talking to in the crowd.  
  


“Hey hey, eyes up here.” The man tears his eyes away from Eddie long enough to address everyone else. “You’re not paying to see that guy, no matter how gorgeous he is. Actually, you’re not paying to see me either, so who am I to tell you where to direct your attention, right?”  
  


His set continues for a few more minutes, and Eddie feels like his feet are glued to the spot. The man keeps _looking_ at him, like he’s checking to make sure Eddie’s still there. And he is, every time, no matter how badly Eddie feels like he wants to run away.  
  


Eddie downs the last of his beer and scurries over to the bar for another. The guy on stage must be done with his set, because he hears a smattering of applause and a very energetic emcee takes the mic to introduce another comic. The one everyone else is actually there to see, judging by the much louder applause that follows.  
  


Just as Eddie plops onto a barstool, he feels someone at his shoulder.  
  


“Did you like my set?”  
  


Eddie takes a sip of his drink before answering, and he hopes to god the guy doesn’t see his hand shaking.  
  
“It’s kind of unorthodox to heckle audience members, you know. Especially ones that didn’t heckle you first.” Eddie raises an eyebrow at him.  
  


“Yeah, well, you just had a look about you. Like you were planning on it. So I had to get mine in there quick, y’know. Play defense, or whatever.” He flags the bartender down and orders a beer before taking the seat next to Eddie. He sits on the very edge of it, so that their knees are almost touching. It’s embarrassing how much Eddie likes it.  
  
“I’m Richie, by the way. I noticed you came in a little late, so I figure you missed the part where I introduce myself and then make a self-deprecating joke about my appearance to get you—the audience, that is—to like me.”  
  


Eddie snorts. “Sorry I missed it, I’m sure it was comedy gold.” He takes another sip and feels a touch brave, so he looks Richie up and down. He means to make a joke out of it, but his thought process gets lost somewhere in between the unruly curls atop Richie’s head and the tantalizing inch of skin that peeks out between the rolled cuff of his jeans and the top of his beat up combat boots. He drags his eyes back up to Richie’s and finds his way again.  
  
“Let me guess, you made some joke about how you’re what would happen if Buddy Holly fucked Gumby.”  
  


Richie lets out a belly laugh at that, throwing his head back and cackling so loud that the new guy on stage tells him to shut up.  
  


“Oh, _fuck_ that is good!” Richie says when his laughter finally subsides. “I’m definitely using that in the future.”  
  


“Hey, write your own material, asshole.” Eddie laughs, and they sip their drinks in between bubbles of laughter that eventually smooth out to a comfortable silence. “I’m Eddie, by the way.”  
  


“Pleased to meetcha, Eds,” Richie smiles at him and extends his hand.  
  


————  
  


“I fucking hate being pre-med,” Eddie mumbles sluggishly into his drink. He’s not slurring his words yet, but he feels like he’s getting there.  
  
“I have finals next week which _sucks_ , and once finals are done I have to go back home for spring break and that _sucks_ , and then once spring break is done I have to go back to being a pre-med student. Everything sucks, Rich!” Eddie exclaims, and Richie’s eyes are closed but he’s nodding very seriously.  
  


Eddie nods with him and for a moment they’re just sitting at the bar, a couple of tipsy bobbleheads. Then Richie’s eyes pop open.  
  


“You should come with me,” He says.  
  


“Come with you where?”  
  


“I’m on like, a mini-tour right now with the guy that went on after me, he got me a bunch of gigs, we’re doing shows in college towns and dive bars and shit. He’s great—” Richie shakes his head. “That’s not the point. I’m leaving in the morning. We’re taking a train up to Philly and then New York a few days later. You could come with.”  
  


Eddie stares at him, feeling terrified and free all at once. Like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff. He hears his mother’s voice in his head, and she’s yelling at him to not go anywhere alone with this man he only met a few hours ago. The worst part is that she’s right this time. Eddie doesn’t know this guy. Every alarm bell is ringing in his head. He shouldn’t go with Richie. He _can’t_ go with Richie. It’s not even the stranger danger aspect of it, either—Eddie can’t just up and leave his schoolwork, his friends, his _mother._ His mother would never let him. He won’t go.  
  


“Yes,” He hears himself say. And when he sees how big Richie smiles at that, he feels even more sure than before. “Yes. I’ll go with you.”  
  


“Yeah?” Richie sounds so hopeful, so excited at the thought of having Eddie with him for just a few days, and it makes Eddie feel impossibly lightheaded. He bites his lip to keep from smiling, but even that can’t hold back the grin that spreads across his face. Richie grins back at him.  
  
“Fuck yeah, Eds! Let’s do this!” He slaps his palm on the bar and then apologizes sheepishly when the bartender jumps at the sound. Eddie can’t stop laughing and smiling and laughing at how much he’s smiling. He’s so fucked. He could kiss him right now.  
  


And he does, although it’s a little off center. He mostly kisses the corner of Richie’s mouth, which was still turned up in a smile. Richie’s hand rests heavy and warm on his thigh, and that’s enough to make Eddie remember where they are, so he pulls away. Eddie clears his throat and feels Richie’s eyes on him as he drains the last of his drink.  
  


“So should we…?”  
  


“Get out of here?” Richie asks. Eddie rolls his eyes fondly at the way he wiggles his eyebrows.  
  


“I would say yes, but I have a roommate. And a university standard twin sized bed, unfortunately.”  
  


Richie winces. “And I am sharing a hotel room with my tour mate. Because we’re broke as shit.”  
  


The bartender slides them their check just as the lights in the bar come on, and Eddie feels a little disoriented. They’ve been sitting here talking for hours, and it still doesn’t feel like enough. They both reach for their wallets at the same time, but Richie is quick on the draw.  
  


“Dude, you just said you were broke as shit. At least let me pay my own bill.”  
  


“No way, Eduardo. It’s the least I can do after you sat here and let me talk your ear off for god knows how long.” Richie taps his boot against Eddie’s shin. Eddie can’t form the words yet, but he knows that having Richie as company for the night was anything but a burden.  
  


“How is it 2 am already? Jesus.” Eddie slides off his stool and wobbles slightly. Not enough to need assistance out the door, but Richie is still there with a long arm around his shoulder. It’s nice. Eddie tucks himself in closer, presses his cheek against Richie’s chest for a split second and feels the warmth of his body spread through him all the way down to his toes. They separate once they’re outside, and the early spring chill in the air feels like icicles against the hot blush on his cheeks.  
  


Richie pulls out a pack of cigarettes and lights up, offering one to Eddie. He shakes his head. From the corner of his eye, Eddie watches him, wanting to memorize the way his cheeks hollow just a little bit when he takes a drag. Richie catches him looking and winks at him before Eddie can avert his gaze.  
  


“So,” Richie says on an exhale. “Should we just… meet at the train station tomorrow, then? My train leaves at ten.”  
  


“That’s cool with me,” Eddie says. He’s aiming for aloofness and as soon as the words leave his mouth he can tell he missed the mark, because Richie narrows his eyes at him and smiles knowingly. It’s just that he’s so desperate to keep Richie near him. He feels alive, for the first time in a long time, and he’s not ready to let that feeling go yet.  
  


It’s like his thoughts are on a neon billboard, one that only Richie can read. He crowds Eddie into the brick wall behind them and kisses him, a proper kiss this time. He tastes like cigarette smoke and beer and Eddie shivers when he feels Richie’s hand spread across the small of his back and hike up the hem of his shirt a fraction of an inch. Eddie’s got a death grip on his bicep and he feels like pouting when Richie pulls away too soon.  
  


“I’ll see you tomorrow, Eds.”  
  


Eddie lets his hand slide down Richie’s arm to squeeze his hand.  
  


“See you tomorrow, Richie.”  
  


They walk opposite ways down the street, and only look back over their shoulder a couple of times before Richie finally has to turn a corner. Eddie shoves his hands into his pockets and begins the lonely trek back to his dorm.  
  


He replays the night over and over in his head. The memory of it keeps him warm. Richie smoking. Richie’s hand on his leg. The way he, Eddie Kaspbrak, had kissed Richie right there at the bar. In front of god and everyone!  
  
...Did he? It feels like he only thought about doing it. He doesn’t remember actually kissing him.  
  
No, no, he did. In the alley. They were kissing in the alley.  
  
Kissing who? Richie.  
  
Richie.  
  
Richie.  
  
Every step he takes the blurrier it all gets. First he can’t remember when he and Richie even started talking. Did someone introduce them?  
  
Then he forgets why he went to a bar, alone, when he should be studying. He figures he’s just had a lot to drink, that’s why he can’t remember. He’s never drinking again, after tonight.  
  
He feels thirsty, and when he smacks his lips it tastes like he licked an ashtray. Eddie doesn’t smoke. Why does his mouth taste like that?  
  


When he gets back to his dorm he takes a shower and brushes his teeth twice, then promptly falls asleep on top of his blankets.  
  


He wakes up the next morning when Jake enters their dorm, wearing the same clothes from last night.  
  


“Got lucky, huh?” Eddie asks.  
  


“Hells yeah, I did. What about you?”  
  


Eddie snorts at that. “What _about_ me?”  
  


Jake flops down on his bed and looks over at Eddie. “I thought I saw you talking to someone at the bar?”  
  


“I was? Who?”  
  


“Woah, Eds! You were _that_ blasted you don’t even remember who you hooked up with?”  
  


Eddie rolls his eyes. “I was _not_ blasted, and I didn’t hook up with anyone. And since when do you call me Eds. Nobody calls me that.” Eddie throws an arm over his face to block out the morning light. Something itches in the back of his brain. Eds. It sounded weird coming from Jake, but he feels like someone else had called him Eds before.  
  
Who else called him that?  
  


“Alright, I’ll drop it. I’m going to sleep.” Jake says into his pillow.  
  


“But it’s morning—”  
  


“Good night, Edward.”  
  


Eddie laughs and rolls over in his bed. He stares at the alarm clock on his bedside table. 10 am. He feels, inexplicably, like there’s something he had planned for the day. Somewhere he needed to be.  
  


He falls back asleep before he can remember what it was.


	2. Chapter 2

** New York, 2003 **

Richie’s sitting in the backseat of a cab that’s moving awfully slow for his liking. He’d planned on taking the subway, but he took too long getting ready this morning—needing to micromanage every curl on his head when he got out of the shower, and then he decided he didn’t like the outfit Sandy had picked out for him, so he changed into and out of four different shirts only to settle on the first one, and then he had to stress vomit once or twice, and then he glanced at his watch and realized he should have left his apartment 15 minutes earlier.  
  


And now he’s stuck in traffic on his way to the biggest audition of his career. Fucking perfect.   
  


He’s considering jumping out at the next stop light and sprinting the rest of the way to 30 Rock when he’s jolted sideways as the driver veers their cab into a different lane. The Escalade they cut off lays on the horn like it’s going out of style.  
  


“Jesus christ,” Richie mutters under his breath. His stomach is already uneasy; the last thing he needs is a rogue cabbie. He rolls his window down for some fresh air, then closes his eyes and tries to steady his breathing.  
  


“ _HEY DICKHEAD!_ ”  
  


Richie almost jumps out of his skin. They’re stopped at a red light, and the driver of the Escalade they cut off is now screaming down at Richie from his open window. He seems unusually high up in his seat, and Richie suspects he might be sitting on a phonebook. He’s immediately delighted by this pissed off chihuahua of a man.  
  


“Can I help you?” Richie says back, leaning out the window.  
  


“Tell your fucking cabbie to use a god damn turn signal for once in his life!” The driver shouts at Richie. His lips are curled back in a snarl and Richie thinks it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. All he wants to do is make him more angry.  
  


Richie lifts up one finger in a “hold on” motion. He then takes out the small notebook he keeps on his person and makes a big show of preparing to take notes. He even dabs the tip of his pencil on his tongue, which he hears the Escalade guy growl at.  
  


“Use… a god damn…. turn signal…” He scribbles into the notepad. “Anything else, boss?”  
  


The guy grits his teeth and spits out, “You are _so_ not funny. Go back to clown college, motherfucker!”  
  


The light turns green and he floors it. Richie’s left in his wake, and he quickly writes that line down too, all while laughing so hard he almost passes out in the backseat of the cab.  
  


In the end, he’s so late to his audition that they don’t even let him sign in, and he can’t bring himself to care. He’s bubbling with laughter the whole way home. By the time he gets to his stoop, he doesn’t even remember what it is that’s so funny.   
  
Richie stays up late that night, lying on the couch and flipping through his notebook, hoping something he wrote will inspire new material. He’s also avoiding going to bed, because he knows Sandy will interrogate him about the audition. She still thinks he even had one.  
  
One page catches his eye. “ _Use a god damn turn signal clown college_?” He reads. At the bottom of the page, he also scribbled the words: _escalade,_ _cutie, phonebook, chihuahua_. He’s used to having to decipher his own hurried notes, but absolutely none of this makes sense to him.  
  
“What the fuck kinda drugs were you on, Tozier?” Richie mutters to himself. He tears the page out and tosses it to the floor in a crumpled ball. 


	3. Chapter 3

** Chicago, 2008  
  
**

Richie stands around the baggage carousel, watching with tired eyes as every other piece of luggage on the plane—in the world probably—pops out before his own. His duffle bag slides down the chute and lands next to two very large, very overpacked suitcases. He’s not entirely sure there’s not a whole child in each one.   
  
There’s only one other man left waiting, so he and Richie step forward at the same time. Richie swings his duffle over his shoulder easily, and right before he turns to leave he notices the other guy is… well, struggling to say the least. He’s got a grip on the handle of one suitcase, but the carousel won’t stop its slow crawl around and around, so the guy is helpless but to follow, around and around…  
  
It’s actually pretty hysterical. Richie can hear the man cursing and muttering under his breath, and after following the suitcases more than halfway around the belt he finally lets go. They slowly make their way around to Richie and when their eyes meet across the way, Richie smiles and shrugs his shoulders a little, as if to say _ain’t that just the way_.   
  
“Are you gonna help me or not, asshole?” He scoffs, like he can’t believe how rude Richie’s being.  
  
Richie just laughs and bends down to grab one suitcase, then makes the few steps the other has traveled and heaves that one onto the floor as well. The man huffs out a quick “Thanks,” before he takes them and continues on his way.   
  
…Which happens to be Richie’s way, as well. They walk down the mostly empty concourse, several feet apart but walking at the same pace. Richie still finds this all very funny, but his luggage buddy seems not to think so. He keeps side-eyeing him, and then rolling his eyes and trying to walk faster to lose him. Richie has the advantage of long legs and not rolling two 50-pound bags with him, so he keeps up just to agitate him more.  
  
They end up at the same car rental kiosk, and Richie finally feels a little remorse for being such a jackass. He taps the guy on the shoulder, who just shrugs him off.  
  
“Hey man, I’m sorry. I was just being a jackass, I dunno. I thought it was kind of funny how we kept walking the same way and shit. Like when you say goodbye to someone and then take the same elevator.” Richie babbles, all to the back of this man’s perfectly coiffed head. He sees his shoulders shake with laughter just the tiniest bit and considers it a win.  
  
“Yeah, it was a little ridiculous.” He turns to look at Richie, and Richie’s kind of struck by how serious his face is. Serious but soft. Old Hollywood handsome. “But you _were_ being a jackass. Didn’t anyone tell you an airport is the worst place for jackassery? You’ll get TSA called on you and shit.”  
  
Richie laughs at that, and before he can respond, the next available service rep calls the man over. Richie waits his turn in line, and finds himself foolishly hoping that the guy would turn around and wave goodbye to him when he’s done. He doesn’t, obviously. Richie seems to forget sometimes that he doesn’t live in a fucking Nicholas Sparks novel. The man walks off with his rental slip and key, still struggling a bit with his bags, and Richie steps up to the counter.   
  
Once he finds his rental car in the parking garage, he tosses his duffle bag in the passenger seat. Over the tops of the cars, he meets the eyes of another man a few spots down, who pauses for just a moment to look back at Richie before he ducks down into the driver’s seat.   
  
Richie swears he looked sort of familiar. But he figures when you travel as much as he does, everyone starts to look familiar everywhere. This was just déjà-vu.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry abt the long wait for an update, but i tried to make up for it by making this chapter longer than the first 3 combined! enjoy!  
> thank u all for reading/commenting i love ya

**Chicago, 2011**

Eddie doesn’t know his apartment neighbors very well. He’ll see them in the hallway or elevator sometimes, and from what he can tell there’s quite an assortment of people who live on his floor. He knows Edith and her tiny Pomeranian puppy named Oscar. He’s met Josh and Stephanie—at least, he thinks those are their names. He can never remember. And then there’s Richie.  
  


Richie lives two doors down from Eddie. He keeps to himself mostly; Eddie’s never seen him with anyone else, never seen anyone besides him come or go from his apartment. Not that that’s something Eddie keeps track of.  
  


Eddie’s never… he never gets to ride the elevator with Richie. He’s always getting on right as Richie’s stepping off, or vice versa. And it’s not a big deal or anything, they clearly run on different schedules. It doesn’t ruin his day just because he can’t spend a few extra minutes in comfortable silence with him.  
  


Except that it does, a little.  
  


Because Richie hardly knows him, but whenever they cross paths in their building, Eddie can  _ swear _ he sees Richie’s eyes light up. He always gives Eddie a thousand-watt smile, he always gives him this cute little wave of his fingers. They barely move that much, it’s like he’s not even aware that he’s doing it.  
  


Maybe it’s just wishful thinking. It’s wishful and it’s childish, because Eddie just turned thirty-five fucking years old, who is he to have a  _ crush _ on his neighbor, for god’s sake. Eddie Kaspbrak does not  _ crush _ on people. Never has, never will.  
  


Eddie stomps the snow off his boots and unzips his coat, and goes to check the mail like he does every day after work. He’s standing at his little mailbox in the lobby, flipping through all the junk mail and coupons, when he feels a rush of cold air as the main entrance opens and closes.  
  


“Hey, Eddie,” Richie says easily, sticking his key in the mailbox two doors down from Eddie’s. Apartment 406. He’s got snowflakes in his hair and the tips of his ears and nose are bright red from being out in the cold. When Richie smiles at him, it warms Eddie from the inside out. “You just getting off work?”  
  


_ God, he looks so cute.  
  
_

Eddie stares for only a second before he gets his act together. “Yeah.” And then he feels weird giving a one word answer, so he saves face by providing way more words than necessary. “Been working longer hours, y’know, with the holidays coming up. I’ll be on vacation for the next two weeks, though. Well, not really—it’s not a vacation so much as a brief period of unemployment.” Richie raises an eyebrow at that. “Yeah, I’m changing careers. No better time to do so than my mid-thirties, right?” Eddie says the last part with a bitter laugh.  
  


Richie’s nodding politely, and Eddie wants to roll his eyes at himself. He’s so fucking boring, god. He’s just a boring mess of a middle-aged man. Why does anyone talk to him.   
  


“What do you do now?” Richie asks, shutting his mailbox. Then he crosses his arms and leans against it, looking for all the world like he could listen to Eddie babble about nothing for days on end. It’s annoying. Eddie really likes how tall he is. He likes how it feels like they’re in high school, chatting at their lockers in between classes. It’s so annoying, how much he likes it.  
  


“I’m a nurse,” He says, and leaves it at that. Eddie’s found that most people are pretty bad at pretending to care about it, or their eyes glaze over when he starts to explain how many different kinds of nurses there are, and that he’s not any of the cooler ones.  
  
  
Richie looks him up and down, and it sends chills down Eddie’s spine. “But you’re in normal clothes. Don’t nurses wear scrubs, like, 24/7?”  
  


Eddie just smirks and rolls his eyes at him. “We totally do, but fuck you for saying it,” he says, which makes Richie chuckle. “And anyways, I usually change out of mine before I leave the building. I feel weird wearing them outside of the hospital. And they don’t offer much protection against Chicago winters.” When Eddie locks his mailbox up and heads for the elevator, Richie follows. “My new job involves no scrubs whatsoever.”  
  
  
Richie nods sagely. “Just as TLC intended.”  
  


Eddie laughs at that—cackles, really—and then claps a hand over his mouth. Richie giggles, a little bit at his own joke but mostly at Eddie’s laugh. Eddie presses the UP button, and the doors open immediately. He pretends like it’s a blessing, instead of a huge disappointment. He’d stand down here and talk to Richie all night, if he could.   
  
  
“What’s the new job?” Richie asks.  
  


“Risk analyst,” Eddie says, with not much enthusiasm, and then he elaborates when he sees the confused look on Richie’s face. “Like, finance and shit.” Richie just nods and says  _ ah _ and that’s about the most in-depth explanation Eddie can give before he bores people to death. They enter the elevator and Richie presses the button for the 4 th floor, but Eddie’s fingers kind of itch to press the ones for 3 and 2, just to get more time alone with Richie. He’s not crazy. Just… maybe a little bit lonely, is all.  
  


They stand next to each other. Not on opposite walls, like strangers would. They’re not exactly shoulder to shoulder, either. Richie leans against the back wall and pulls his phone out. Eddie stands nearly dead center, looking straight ahead.  
  


His mind is completely blank, he’s totally not thinking about how often Richie sniffles quietly. About how badly he wants to bring him some soup and maybe a box of tissues, the ones with aloe in them so his nose doesn’t get all raw.  
  


The doors open again,  _ damn this quick elevator _ , and they step out. Eddie gets to his door first, and when he goes to say goodbye over his shoulder, he’s a little surprised to see Richie hovering behind him.  
  


“Uh.. what’s up, Rich?”  
  


“I just wanted to tell you I’m having a party at my place for new year’s,” Richie says, but he seems fidgety all of a sudden. It’s weird.  
  


“Oh, okay? Thanks for the heads up. The noise won’t bother me, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m a heavy sleeper.”  
  


“Well, I’m—wait, you’re gonna sleep through the new year? You don’t have plans?”  
  


Eddie shrugs. “I’m not big on parties.” Or having friends, or like… ones who invite him to parties.  
  


“That’s cool…” Richie nods and purses his lips a little, looking around the empty hallway. “Uh, would you wanna come over anyway? It won’t be a rager or anything, I promise. And I’m not inviting you now out of pity,” Richie adds quickly. “I was just trying to work up the courage to ask you at all. Honest.” Richie laughs a little breathlessly to himself and then looks at Eddie expectantly.  
  


Eddie feels really warm all of a sudden, the weight of his coat and sweater unbearable at the moment. The weight of Richie’s eyes on him, hopeful and kind of scared all at once. Nobody’s ever looked at him like this before. He’d remember if they did.  
  


“You don’t have to answer this second, it’s fine.” Richie adds, scratching at his head while he avoids Eddie’s eyes. Eddie’s still not saying anything, why can’t he say anything? It’s like his mouth has been glued shut. Of course he wants to go, god.  _ Just say it! Just say you’ll be there!  
  
_

Another moment passes of Eddie staring at him, so Richie gestures lamely to his apartment door down the hall and mumbles, “Well, okay. Uh… let me know then, I guess. I’ll see ya.”  
  


Richie pushes his door open and Eddie finally shakes the fog from his head and calls out to him.  
  


“Should I bring anything?”  
  


Richie smiles that fucking smile of his and says, “Just yourself, Eds.” and disappears into his apartment.  
  


Eddie steps into his place and shuts the door behind him, letting his body slump against it. Richie invited him over. The thought of seeing the inside of Richie’s apartment; his knick knacks and bookshelves and his bedroom— _ okay slow down cowboy _ —it makes his chest feel all tight and funny. He smiles to himself, so big he can feel his cheeks hurt a little from the stretch of barely used muscles. He sucks in a deep breath.  
  


“Alright, Eds. Relax. It’s just a party.” Eddie mutters, though he surprises himself with the nickname. “Gotta think of something to bring.”

————

Eddie’s two weeks of pseudo-vacation pass uneventfully. He spends Christmas eating Chinese take out and watching  _ A Christmas Story _ , reciting it from memory to himself. He deep cleans his apartment, takes a few chilly runs along the lakefront on the rare sunny days, and generally allows himself to be lazy and alone. He doesn’t run into Richie at all.  
  


Now it’s 10 pm on new year’s eve, and Eddie’s staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He’s changed his outfit three times tonight, and has had multiple arguments with himself about the quality of the champagne he’s planning on bringing to the party. It’s not the most creative gift for a host, but it’s safe.  
  


He doesn’t even know when he should go over to Richie’s—he never specified a time, and Eddie feels dizzy just thinking about being there alone with him. Like, he wouldn’t complain but he probably couldn’t be cool about it either. The on-time person that he is though, is filled to the brim with anxiety about being late.  _ You can’t be late to a new year’s party, idiot. Just show up before midnight.  
  
_

“Fuck it,” He stomps with determination out of the bathroom and into his kitchen. He grabs the champagne from the fridge, his keys from the counter, and when he swings the door open he’s two inches away from walking right into Richie’s chest.  
  


“Christ, Eddie! You scared me,” Richie says. He’s got a hand on Eddie’s elbow to steady him.  
  


“What are you doing here?” Eddie asks. He has to crane his neck a little to look at Richie, and oh right, he should probably take a step back. He does, reluctantly, and covers the blush he can feel creeping up his face by double checking that his door is locked.  
  


Richie points a thumb over his shoulder at his door, where Eddie can hear music and muffled conversations from their place in the hallway. “I was just—the party’s started, and I just wanted to make sure you were still, um, gonna stop by. If you wanted. I haven’t seen you in a bit so I wasn’t sure if your plans had changed.”  
  


Eddie holds up the bottle of champagne with a small smile. “They haven’t. This is for you,” He kind of shoves it at Richie, all his nervous energy boiling over now and making him jittery. He finally gets a good look at him and resists the urge to groan out loud at how handsome he looks. That’s also the moment Eddie notices the giant pair of novelty 2012 glasses perched on top of his head. _Dork.  
_  
  
“Oh, dude, I said you didn’t have to bring anything! We’re adults, not every party is BYOB now.” Richie winks at Eddie and then looks down at the label. It’s really not anything special, just some bottle Eddie picked up at Binny’s on a whim. Richie’s looking down at it like it’s his most prized possession and Eddie uses the opportunity to look at _him_ ; at his big eyebrows and forehead, and his thick glasses resting on the handsome line of his nose, and maybe Eddie’s imagining it but he thinks he can see a gray hair or two in his sideburns and then he’s thinking _god please kiss me at midnight I want you to kiss me_.  
  
  
Richie tilts his face back up to Eddie with a wide grin, and for one panicked second Eddie believes he might have said that last thought out loud. “Shall we head over and pop this bad boy open?”  
  
  
Eddie nods and follows Richie down the hall and into his apartment. It’s got a similar layout to his own place, and the handful of people milling about in the living room area make it look smaller than he knows it actually is. There’s a lot going on, in terms of decor. There’s tons of wall art; framed movie posters and art prints and photographs of smiling people, some with Richie and some without. Eddie suddenly realizes he has none of those things hanging up in his apartment. Richie has multiple bookshelves, and from what Eddie can tell there’s not a semblance of organization to them. They’re all jam-packed with a mix of DVDs and CDs and video games and books and road atlases and whatever else fits on a bookshelf. There’s a little Charlie Brown christmas tree on the coffee table that makes Eddie smile.   
  
  
He follows Richie as he weaves them around people and into the kitchen, which is basically still in the living room, if it weren’t for the tiled floor and a half wall dividing the two. Eddie leans on the counter there and watches Richie dig through a cabinet to find two champagne flutes.  
  
  
“Your place is really nice,” Eddie says.  
  
  
“Thank you!” Richie says so genuinely. “I’ve been working really hard to get rid of the shitty dorm room aesthetic, that shit is depressing and almost impossible to break free from.”  
  
  
Eddie laughs and nods. “I totally get that. You’ve done a good job at it, though.”  
  
  
Richie smiles at him, and just when Eddie thinks he can’t blush any harder, Richie starts gripping and squeezing at the cork of the bottle, the muscles of his forearms and biceps all pulled taut with his controlled movements. Eddie has to look away after a moment, lest he do something… weird. His eyes land on a group of magnet poems on the fridge.   
  
  
“ _Finger me / hot honey goddess / I want peach_?” Eddie laughs at it, but feels the words stoke a small fire within him.  
  
  
“Oh there’s some real gems over there, keep looking. I can’t take credit for that one, but the rest are all me, baby.” Eddie hears the _pop_ of the cork breaking free and reads another.  
  
  
“ _My lazy tongue / worship the man butt_ ”  
  
  
“It sure do,” Richie sighs, and hands Eddie a glass of champagne. “Cheers, Eds.” They touch their glasses together, maintaining eye contact, and Eddie almost sighs in relief at the alcohol running smooth down his throat and into his gut. It extinguishes the fire building inside, not completely, just enough to be smoldering ash for the time being. They’re still looking at each other as they sip. Richie breaks first.  
  
  
He sets his glass down on the counter and steps in closer to Eddie, his eyes laser focused on the scrambled magnet words all over the surface of his fridge. Eddie just drains the last of his glass and watches the side of his face as his works.  
  
  
“How’s this?” Richie says after a minute or two. He looks down at Eddie, directly into his eyes, and all Eddie can think is _god he’s so big_ _what’s he so BIG for_ , before he realizes Richie wants him to read the poem he just made. He blinks and squints at the fridge, needing to clear the fog out of his head before he’s able to process a single word.  
  
  
“ _Ed-s / you gorgeous purple storm / tiny motherfucker”  
_ _  
_ _  
_Richie takes Eddie’s empty glass from his hand and turns to pour them some more.  
  
  
“Very clever use of the ‘-ed’ suffix.” He decides not to comment on the tiny thing. Or the gorgeous thing. His brain can’t handle either right now. “You’re the first person to call me Eds, I think.” _And I hope you’re the last, too.  
_  
  
Their fingers brush when Richie hands his glass back to him. Eddie downs almost half of it in one big gulp, then gets cracking at his own poem. He feels Richie’s eyes on him the whole time, right up until Eddie slides the last magnet in place and says a triumphant “Beat _that_ ,” before polishing off the rest of his champagne.  
  
  
“Oh, I didn’t realize it was a competition?” Richie chuckles, but turns to the new poem right above the water dispenser.  
  
  
“ _Drive-ing fast / let me see through him / after all my ache / enormous bare & luscious”  
_  
  
Hearing Richie say it out loud… Eddie feels embarrassed and brave all at once.   
  
  
“I like that,” Richie says. He opens his mouth to say more, but then someone’s yelling for him from across the room.  
  
  
“ _Richie!_ Come here and tell that story you told me the other day!”  
  
  
“Be right there,” Richie rolls his eyes good-naturedly and then nods for Eddie to join him.  
  
  
Richie starts off telling the story to just the few people standing around the guy who called him over in the first place, but before Eddie knows it, Richie is front and center with all of his friends crowded around him and hanging on his every word. It’s electrifying, watching him talk and gesture so wildly that he spills most of his drink.   
  
  
Eddie sticks to the wall. Usually the alcohol would make him a social butterfly, albeit a loud one, but he can’t afford to miss a second of this quasi-stand up set Richie’s doing. Does he do this for a living? Eddie realizes Richie’s never actually told him, it just… felt like he knew already. It’s a weird feeling. He knows, logically, that Richie and Eddie don’t know much about each other. But there’s something else within him that suggests otherwise. Eddie feels like he could trust Richie with his whole life, his heart, all of it. He would.  
  
  
He should probably cool it on the champagne.  
  
  
“—And then he yelled, “ _go back to clown college, motherfucker!_ ” and I said, “I am a proud alumni of SUNY Barnum & Bailey, sir! I’ll have you know I obtained my masters in clownery!” Richie’s voice cuts through all the laughter in the room, clear and excited as he nails the punchline of the story. His eyes skate over everyone’s faces until he’s looking right at Eddie. Eddie laughs just a beat later than everyone else—it gets caught in his throat, even, because something about the words Richie said felt so familiar to him. Like déjà-vu but worse. And heavier.   
  
  
After his storytelling, the partygoers mostly break back into their small circles and music starts playing again. Eddie watches Richie flit around the room, touching and hugging and laughing and being a beautiful ball of energy and light that he’s drawn to like a dumb, tipsy moth. He knows he’s staring, but Eddie doesn’t know anybody else here, so who else is he supposed to look at? Richie meets his eyes every once in a while and Eddie barely registers his approach until Richie is right in front of him. His chest encompasses Eddie’s entire view and he’s definitely not complaining.   
  
  
“Hi,” Eddie says.   
  
  
“Hi.”  
  
  
“You do stand up?”  
  
  
Richie nods and leans against a nearby bookshelf. “Yeah, sometimes. Hard business to break into. Why, is it obvious? Am I that much of an attention whore?”  
  
  
Eddie laughs and swats at his arm. “No, it’s not that. You looked really comfortable, Rich. I liked it,” Richie smiles down at him but it’s tight-lipped, like his mind is elsewhere. “The story was really funny.”  
  
  
“Eh, the clown college thing needs some work, I know,” Richie says. “I’ve been trying to work that into my set for weeks now. You don’t have to lie, I can spot a fake laugh a mile off. And you were only 5 feet away.” He says it in jest, but the way he takes a bitter swig of his drink tells Eddie he feels otherwise.   
  
  
“No, it’s not that, I just—” Richie grabs their bottle of champagne from where he’d placed it on the floor by his feet, and Eddie nods gratefully as Richie divvies up the last of it. He takes one small sip before continuing. “This might sound weird, but I felt like I’ve heard it somewhere before? That’s all.”  
  
  
Richie’s puzzled at that. “Oh? That _is_ weird.” Richie takes a sip and Eddie can see the gears turning in his head, choosing his words. “I only recently started telling that story at open mics. I didn’t even remember it happened until like, two weeks ago.” Richie’s eyes dart up to meet Eddie’s, then away and into his glass. “The night I invited you here, actually. I guess that’s kind of a weird coincidence.”  
  
  
Richie finally looks up and when Eddie locks eyes with him, it doesn’t feel like a coincidence. None of it does.  
  
  
Who _is_ he? Have they met before?  
  
  
They’re just kind of standing there, on the fringes of the party, staring at each other. Somehow, Eddie knows that Richie must be thinking the same things he is. It’s getting to be too much.  
  
  
“Well, I’m really glad you invited me.” Eddie says, just to say something that isn’t _tell me who you are, tell me who_ we _are to each other, tell me your whole life story and I’ll tell you mine and we’ll examine any overlaps in time and space_ —  
  
  
 **Five! Four! Three!  
** **  
**  
“And I’m really glad you’re here.”  
  
  
 **Two! One!  
** **  
** **  
**Eddie’s lips meet Richie’s before anyone has finished shouting _happy_ but yes, he is, he’s happy, so very happy, his hands are threading through Richie’s hair and he thinks he knocked the pair of 2012 glasses off his head, but with Richie’s hands around his hips he doesn’t care, doesn’t care about any of it, he’ll stay here until 2013, until 2089, if it means he’ll always feel like this.  
  
  
Richie pulls away first. He’s smiling so big when he says “Happy new year,” a little breathlessly, and Eddie just pulls him back in for another kiss.  
  
  
————  
  
  
Eddie’s cooking up a little valentine’s day dinner for himself when there’s a knock at his door. He wipes his hands off and checks the peephole—it’s some man he doesn’t recognize. He opens the door, but keeps the chain lock on.  
  
  
“Hi, can I help you?” Eddie says through the crack in the door. He notices immediately how this man is handsome in a goofy looking way. Tall, broad shoulders. Thick rimmed glasses. Like Buddy Holly fresh out of a taffy puller, but in a hot way.  
  
  
“Hi, I’m really sorry to bother you. I’m new to the building, I just moved in down the hall?” The guy points two doors down, to apartment 406.   
  
  
“Oh!” Eddie closes the door to unlatch the chain, then reopens it fully. “I’m Eddie. Welcome to the building.”  
  
  
“Thanks, man. I’m Ryan. I was just wondering if you knew where the previous tenant from my unit moved to? I keep getting his mail, and Edith mentioned something about you being friends with that guy. If you could save me a trip to the post office, I’d really appreciate it.” Ryan adds with a laugh.  
  
  
Eddie’s stunned into silence. He racks his brain for… anything, any information at all about apartment 406 _or_ the guy who lived there. It was barely two weeks ago that he finally noticed it was vacant.  
  
  
“Um… I’m sorry, maybe Edith had the wrong person? I didn’t really know, uh…?”  
  
  
“Richie Tozier? That’s who it’s all addressed to.”  
  
  
Eddie shakes his head again and shrugs. “Sorry, dude, I really don’t remember who that was.”  
  
  
Now Ryan looks just as puzzled as Eddie feels. “Oh, okay. Thanks anyway. See you around, neighbor.” Ryan does a little salute and Eddie mirrors it, and they return back to their apartments.  
  
  
Eddie feels off for the rest of the night. The paella he makes is fantastic, but all he can think about is this… Richie whats-his-face. Edith must really be losing it for her to make up a whole relationship between Eddie and someone he’s never even spoken to.  
  
  
It’s fine. Eddie sips some more of his wine and enjoys his own company. He thinks about Ryan. He’s never known his apartment neighbors very well, but maybe that’ll change this year.   
  
  



End file.
